


Between earth and sky

by drivingsideways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Post Season 15 Ep 18, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: It's a garden, is Castiel’s first, surprised thought.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	Between earth and sky

**Author's Note:**

> \- I haven't watched show since season 9, ep 3 and have no interest in remaining accurate to the plot or world building of the canon. This is basically written in a fugue state so I can be FREE OF THEM, PLEASE GOD.  
> -Note on pronouns for Castiel: Angels don't have a gender, I've used "they/them" when Cas thinks about themselves.  
> -No beta, we die like women etc.

It's a garden, is Castiel’s first, surprised thought.

It stretches out around Castiel, too huge for them to see the perimeter of it.

There is the sound of rushing water somewhere, like a mighty river in spate. 

The garden is strangely Earth-like. Castiel can _see_ the soil and the creatures that live in it, the grass is green, and rough. There are a profusion of shrubs and trees – flowers and fruit— nothing seems to be ordered though. There are no paths visible.

Castiel senses a presence. And then, almost immediately, they can hear someone humming a tune. It’s a little like the songs of The Host, but also, a trifle melancholy.

Castiel sets out toward where the humming is coming from.

It takes a long time: the closer they think they are, the farther the song moves.

And yet, Castiel does not feel weary. Instead, they feel their Grace surge, _wake up_ , somehow, as though from a long, terrible nightmare. Castiel had thought they knew what joy was: but this, this felt like bordering on whatever _ecstasy_ meant.

Abruptly, they halt.

_That's wrong, they think. We lost our grace._

_Something flashes through their mind: a figure in a trenchcoat, light streaming through the man's eyes._

_His eyes._

_Their eyes._

But the humming is louder now, closer.

 _Noisy,_ someone says, but when they turn around there's no one. 

The grass smells fresh, and wet, and everything is light, light, light.

The humming gets louder.

Castiel reaches out.

There is-a woman??-bending over a row of saplings. From where Castiel is standing, they see that she is wearing a simple long garment, with loose, short sleeves, belted at the waist with some rope. Her hair falls in thick dark braids down her back. She’s the one humming.

“And who are you?” she asks, without turning. Her voice is _human_ \- for want of a better word.

I’m Castiel, they reply.

“Hmm,” she mumbles, still not turning around, but settling the earth around a sapling. “Castiel…Castiel….no, I’m afraid I can’t remember.”

It shouldn’t _hurt,_ Castiel thinks, but it _does_.

She turns to them then, and slowly stands up, wiping her dirty hands on her garment.

She has beautiful dark eyes, set in a sharp-boned brown face. Her hair is pulled tightly away from the rising dome of her head.

“You were after my time, I don’t doubt”, she says, gently.

Apparently Castiel is no longer good at hiding their—

“How did you get here?” she asks.

_How did I get here?_

_Cas, says a voice, a familiar voice, if only he could place it, Cas, don't—_

“There was..the door just appeared..I..”, Castiel stumbles.

She waves a hand, “That’s not what I asked”, she says.

She looks back down at the saplings: a long row of what should one day be sunflowers, Castiel knows.

“Can’t tell if they’ll take”, she says, ruefully, gesturing. “Sometimes they don’t turn out to be what you expect.”

Castiel says nothing.

“Well, never mind”, she says, cheerfully. “Now that you’re here, I’m sure you’ll want the tour.”

“Are you—", Castiel stumbles, afraid to say the words.

She raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Father?” they say, and then self-consciously—“Mother?”

But that was _wrong_ , Castiel knew that. The Father they had searched for, yearned for, _waited_ for had been someone else, someone who had-

_The one with the crack in the chassis, a voice says, dripping contempt. You were the only one who didn't do what you were told._

_Noisy, someone hisses. Make it stop._

The woman laughs, a loud, hearty sound.

It startles a flock of starlings out of a bush nearby and they chitter as they fly away.

“Sorry”, she says, “I don’t mean to be—but you just sounded so—"

“No”, she adds.

And then even more gently, “Sorry.”

“Who are you then?” Castiel asks.

She shrugs. “I’m—The Caretaker, if you will. This whole-“ she gestures- “shebang is my responsibility. It takes some work, let me tell you.”

Castiel tries to take that in.

“Walk with me”, she says, “There’s a creature that needs some help.”

Castiel falls into step beside her.

She chatters along the way: mostly about the difficulty of managing weather patterns and trying to figure out the right soil types for certain plants. How the zebras in the Eastern zone were proving to be impractical. How the apple orchard in the northern was refusing to yield any fruit, and it was two seasons past their time. There’s no path, but her stride is long and confident. She shrugs. “Well, you do what you can do, I suppose. And then wait.”

A herd of giraffe crosses their path, their long necks stiff and straight. There’s a young one among them, and it stops to bend its neck and nuzzle at The Caretaker’s hair. “Alright, alright, off with you” she says, affectionately, stroking its back.

Castiel is mostly silent, still overwhelmed. She doesn’t seem to mind their silence.

Eventually they reach their destination.

He can hear the distressed whinny of a—horse.

“Poor darling”, she says, her face becoming intent. “Birthing is always difficult.”

It certainly seems to be.

The mare is certainly the most beautiful of its species that Castiel has ever seen, although at the moment her rich chestnut coat is drenched in sweat, and she’s panting, her large, long fringed dark eyes half closed in pain, where she lies. She opens them when The Caretaker approaches and gives a whinny, half cut off. Castiel can see that the foal is almost halfway out: its hind legs and about a quarter of the lower half. But it seems stuck.

“It’s ok darling, it’s ok” says The Caretaker, and then whispers more- not in Enochian- not a language that Castiel even recognizes; more lilting than Enochian, which was prosaic, at the end of the day- made for war and spells and commands, not like this, not for poetry or joy, like a song made language. The mare seems to calm down, the frantic look in her eyes easing, though she still pants and her belly rises and falls in sharp spasms.

“Some help here?”, says The Caretaker with a raise of her eyebrows.

Castiel startles, feeling _embarrassed_.

They reach out with their Grace.

_Stolen, a voice says, stolen, mine._

_Make it stop, someone says, make it stop._

“Ah, no”, she says, “I’m going to need”— gives them a critical once over— “hands from somewhere. Humanoid.”

Castiel obliges.

It _is_ difficult. It is difficult and messy and almost, Castiel thinks, they are going to lose both the mare and the foal, but in the end, there’s a skinny, wet, tiny creature attempting to balance on its shaky legs. The mare gives a last, exhausted whinny, licks the foal and promptly falls asleep.

The Caretaker rises, her garments soaked with fluid and blood.

“Well, that’s okay then, she’s a bit early, the impatient thing, but she’ll be fine. Best leave them alone to bond.” she says, satisfied. “Thank you for your help”

Castiel feels a thrum of pride through their Grace and feels a little foolish.

But The Caretaker is looking at them kindly, and she says, “Well, we better get going. You don’t have all day.”

She takes them to the river: Castiel cannot see the farther shore, so wide is it, an expanse of the clearest blue. Casually, she steps into it, washing down her hands and her clothes, before she scoops some and drinks from it.

Castiel stands on the shore.

“You can come in. You’re not going to drown.”

But Castiel would rather remain where they are.

She shrugs, “Alright, suit yourself.”

They walk along the river for a while- a long while. She isn’t talking as much anymore, just occasionally stopping to speak to a tree or an animal, in that musical foreign language that Castiel doesn’t understand. Lots of the latter seem to come by to just— _touch_ her— Castiel thinks- before they go back to whatever it is they were doing.

The humming has ceased.

Castiel doesn’t mind the silence: where once silence had meant loneliness and sorrow and loss, here it is— peace.

“Well,” she says, “here we are.”

They have just followed a curve, to emerge onto a flat plane, a field of rolling grass. In the distance, is a tree. It is of average height, and its leaves look like the dark green of the mango in summer, it’s bark rough and dark brown. Everything about it seems ordinary- except for the sheer power that it pulses out in every direction. Even at this distance, Castiel feels it slam into their Grace- not in a painful manner, no- just, an undeniable, inexorable Presence.

“Come on” she says and moves ahead.

Castiel follows, two steps behind.

As they get closer, the tree seems to be calling to them, its power winding through the waves of their Grace, whispering their name. It feels like when they first stepped into this place- that same surge in their Grace. It’s— seductive, exhilarating.

 _Terrifying_.

Castiel wants to run toward it and away at the same time.

Ahead of them, The Caretaker keeps walking, the same long, confident stride as before.

She comes to a halt just outside the shadow thrown by its branches. From here, the tree looks bigger.

It’s all Castiel can do not to prostrate themselves before it.

She glances at them, where they stand stiff and silent.

“You know what this is, of course”, she says, softly.

Castiel nods. “The Tree of Knowledge”

“Yes.” 

Then she sighs.

“Castiel, how did you get here?”

Thoughts-memories- _feelings_ -tumble through their consciousness at the speed of light--millennia of slaughter and blood and silence and—two men in a car, and a blue-eyed boy—

“I was looking”, Castiel says,” for an answer”.

“Well, then, you’ve come to the right place, haven’t you?” she murmurs, “But—" she pauses. “Are you sure of the question?”

Castiel looks at her, helpless.

She doesn’t say anything further, just looks at them, kind as ever.

“Eating of The Tree brought sorrow and loss into the world” Castiel says, unsure why their voice sounds like a plea.

“Yes”, she says, “Yes it did— and it does”.

She says nothing more.

“It brings doubt and misery”, Castiel says.

“Yes”, she says, easily, “it does.”

“Then _why-",_ Castiel starts- and is interrupted by the sound of laughter.

There are two- _people-_ at the base of theTree now, and the laughter is coming from them.

As Castiel watches, the shorter one reaches up to cuff the taller one against his temple, resulting in a shoving match, and an exasperated _Dean, quit it ok—_

_Dean Winchester is saved._

_It goes through Castiel like a bell, like a sword, everything fire and flame and burning flesh and desperation—_

_Dean Winchester is saved._

Someone joins the two— _brothers_ , Castiel knows, and doesn't know how he knows.

It's the blue-eyed boy from before, and Castiel feels it again, a tug on their Grace, but it doesn't feel like joy this time, it feels like something vaster and deeper and sweeter and more painful, it feels like—

The three of them settle on the grass, talking, laughing.

Jack— _Jack_ —the name comes from somewhere deep within them—sprawls out on the grass and points upward, prompting the other two to follow.

Castiel watches and feels something pierce them: something unnamed and sharp, something like longing and tenderness, like envy and desire and fear-something inchoate that slices rapier-like through their Grace, and they are—

It’s _Sam_ —who sees them- he murmurs something to the other two.

Jack springs up, turning toward them, his young face breaking into a smile, infectious in its innocence.

“Castiel!” he calls, this blue-eyed boy who's Castiel's _child_.

_Someone chuckles._

_It's not a joyous sound—instead, it slithers, dark and venomous, and Castiel is—_

Castiel is rooted to the ground; they are flying through the vast, endless dark—Castiel is—

_Dead_ , _my lovely_ , someone croons.

This time, when they turns toward the voice, there's someone there.

 _Meg_ , they say, but know that's wrong, even as they say it.

Meg had kissed them once, and they had tried to make her hurt less, and Meg had smiled at them—

 _Also dead,_ says the one wearing Meg's _meatsuit_ says a different voice, a familiar—

Castiel turns to the source of the second, but there's only dark, and it’s the dark of absences and that one winter night when the power had gone out in a storm and Castiel who had been just a man then, shivering flesh and aching bone, had curled up in his sleeping bag, and there had been nobody—

 _Pathetic,_ says The Shadow, and Meg had called them that once, they think, and they had agreed, deep inside, though they would rather have died than admit—

Castiel takes a deep- breath?- Castiel doesn't need to breathe, Castiel is a wave of celestial intent—

 _Castiel,_ a voice hisses.

Castiel staggers back, it's _Naomi,_ no, it's Raphael, no, it's Uriel, no—

They can't keep track as the shapes in front of them keep shifting and the humming has started again, like a planet full of –

 _I like bees,_ Castiel says, turning toward the presence by their side, _do you know they are_ —

But it isn't bees now, there are no bees here, instead it's a rumble that becomes a roar—

_Make it stop!!!_

_Claire_ , Castiel thinks, frantic, as Claire's mouth opens in a scream, _Claire_ , _no, no_ —

Claire shatters into—

The Empty—

Castiel is dead, they are in The Empty, _where's Claire, where's Claire—_

The dark coalesces once more, and it's Jack, but he's entirely aflame, only his eyes, his _blue eyes so like his father, he's mine, mine, yours, yours, he's going to destroy the world, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—_

And Castiel can't hold it back anymore, they open their mouths to scream—

_Cas? Can you hear me, man? Cas? Where are you?_

Castiel wants to sob, their entire being exhaling in relief, they know that voice, they _know_ that voice—

 _No,_ they think. _Dean shouldn't be here. That wasn't the deal. If Dean was here, then that vile thing had taken him, and Castiel hadn't –_

You can't have him, Castiel shouts at _Jimmy_ , no, _Hannah_ , no, _Raphael_ , no, _Sam—_ that wasn't the deal, you can't break the rules—

_You broke the rules._

_This is your fault._

_Cas?_

_Cas?_

_Answer me, man, c'mon, I know you're out here, listen—please—Cas, you got your ears on? Fuck, fuck, fuck._

_Go away,_ Castiel thinks at him, fear gripping them, pressing on them like the weight of the entire universe on the head of a pin, and Castiel can't breathe, but Castiel doesn't need to breathe, like Castiel doesn't need to feel, only Castiel _feels_ , Castiel feels _everything_ now, Castiel wants nothing more than Dean to find them, and Castiel can’t let Dean find them, there are too many monsters, and they'd kill Dean and Castiel's too weak, _stop praying Dean, don't stop, run, Dean, run_.

Castiel could fold themselves into an atom, or shoot across the heavens like a comet, but they can't breathe, and Dean's not supposed to be here, the Shadow can't have him, and Dean's green eyes are frantic, and he's saying something, and there's something in his hand—a giant scythe—and it's hurtling through the darkness that seems to be rushing to meet it and Castiel pulls together every little bit of themselves that is still left and _explodes—_

Everything goes still.

Castiel is nothing but light and freedom and Dean's warm palm against his human cheek, and there's a keening sound that's unlike anything Castiel has every heard or experienced before juddering through them, and they reach out with all of themselves and enfold Dean in their embrace.

There's light.

"Holy shit" says Dean, his voice muffled. "Fuck".

Castiel releases him.

Dean's got his eyes screwed shut.

"Cas?" he says, and he sounds breathless, trembling, "Cas? Is that _you_?"

Castiel folds themselves into a shape that Dean knows, that Dean can hold on to.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean sinks to the ground, hands coming up to cover his face.

"Jesus" he whispers, "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Not quite," Castiel says, suddenly, inexpressibly amused, because it's Dean, dear, lovely, profane. "It's just me."

That gets Dean to lower his hands, and open his eyes, blinking.

He stares up at Castiel, and then slowly gets to his feet.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Somewhere safe", Castiel replies, because they are, they can feel it, all through their Grace. "The safest place—" in the universe, they're going to say, but suddenly knows that's wrong.

Where they are, it exists beyond space and time.

"Looks like a national park" Dean mutters, looking around. "You didn't angel-bus us to Yellowstone, did you? Because that's a long drive."

"No", says Castiel, "it's not Yellowstone."

Castiel can sense the Tree in the distance, but they seem to be quite alone here, no sign of The Caretaker or any of the other creatures.

Just warmth and light and crisp air.

"How did you get here?" Castiel asks, feeling their lungs expand as they breathe.

Dean finally meets thier-human-eyes, gives a small shrug.

"Billie gave me her scythe."

Castiel narrows their eyes.

"Relax" says Dean, with a small roll of his eyes. "It's not permanent. I'm not like, the next Death or whatever."

"You _can't_ —" starts Castiel, feeling that old frustration swell up within.

"The _fuck_ I can't, " says Dean, "You fucking _hypocrite_."

"Dean," Castiel says.

"Motherfucker," says Dean, looking away again, blinking rapidly. "You can't keep doing this to me, you hear? This isn't fun. You've got to let me catch up."

There's some truth in that. All these years, running toward and away, at the same time. 

In Castiel's defense, they hadn't had much experience of this before. 

But neither, Castiel knows, had Dean.

They were making it up as they went along.

"No more goodbyes," Dean is saying, still not looking at Castiel.

"Alright," says Castiel, and oh, _this_ is what it feels like, they think.

 _Having_.

Dean is still turned away.

"Dean," they say, and they don't hold back anything as they do.

Dean finally turns to meet their eyes, his own wet.

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding shaky.

Castiel nods, not trusting their voice.

"You got any idea how to get out of here?" Dean says, after a minute, one in which Castiel has lived aeons.

Castiel would happily stay here forever, if they could, in this one perfect moment, but Dean didn't belong here, and neither did Castiel, not anymore.

"There's a door" Castiel says, nodding toward where one was opening up behind Dean.

Dean whips around.

"What the fuck," he splutters, incredulous.

Turning back, he says, his brow a familiar crease of doubt and wariness, shoulders tensing, "It can't be _that_ easy."

"Let's find out," suggests Castiel.

Dean takes their hand.

"Don't let go," he instructs, as their fingers slot together, palms rough and calloused.

"I won't," Castiel promises, and feels Dean's exhale, as they walk through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> -Title paraphrased from a rough translation of "Ae-dil-e-naadan" from the movie Razia Sultan (1983, Dir Kamal Amrohi) lyrics by Jaan Nisar Akhtar. This song has been my go-to for Cas from oh, idk, forever, so I get to use it here, finally.
> 
> "Yeh zamin chup hai, aasman chup hai  
> Phir yeh dhadkan si, char su kya hai?"
> 
> (The earth is quiet, the sky is silent  
> What then around me, pulses like a beating heart?)
> 
> ETA 11/11: Made some changes, because I can't leave stuff alone, but the basic "story" remains unchanged.


End file.
